Sometime after college, I wrote a few Christmas letters. One year, I weaved popular movie titles into my recap; the next year, I did the same with TV shows.
So, I’m reprising the idea with my kidney journey. (For entertainment purposes only)
Within 24 hours during the summer of 2023, I went from being okay to finding out my kidneys were failing. It felt like I was staring at a countdown clock. One moment, life felt ordinary and full of plans. The next moment, everything shifted. The nephrologist spoke with the seriousness of a series finale, and I sat there thinking that I now had A Million Little Things to face. My new TV script became scattered. Yet even then, something inside me reminded me that pieces can be reassembled and stories rewritten.
My kidney disease diagnosis ushered me into a kind of Blindspot, where nothing was clear, and every answer only raised more questions. Before long, my kidneys had climbed onto the top of The Blacklist, rising to a place I never wanted them to be. I had slowly watched their function worsen. I kept hoping the director would call out, “cut,” explain the plot twist, or point out where the hidden cameras were, and I was being Punk’d. Instead, I learned to breathe. I learned to wait. I knew that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is sit still, let the truth settle, and trust that even this part of the script has purpose to the series.
Kidney dialysis became its own nightly routine, steady in its rhythm and impossible to ignore. I tried to keep my Modern Family and Friends updated, leaning on them, on humor, and on connection wherever I could find it. My dialysis solution moved with the urgency of The Flash, racing through me, sometimes getting stuck, while I tried to stay grounded. I felt like The Rookie, an inexperienced cast member thrown onto a TV set without memorizing all the lines, learning as I went, and hoping I was doing it right. Each dialysis episode carried the intensity of a SWAT team, full of equipment and things that beeped, and I studied my labs with the attention of The Mentalist, searching for meaning behind every number. And in the middle of all that noise, small mercies kept showing up. A kind nurse. A steady blood test result. A moment of laughter that reminded me I was still me with no laugh track needed.
Then, a year and some months later, came the knock at my door.
The kind that turns Hope and Faith and me into a Designated Survivor, the kind that rearranges everything you thought you knew.
A month later, on the morning of the transplant, I stood in front of Clarkson Hospital at UNMC, looking up and thinking it was a Castle, big and solid and full of people who knew what to do even when I did not. I found myself surrounded by men and women in Scrubs, the wardrobe and makeup team of this unexpected episode of my life.
At 6:30 that morning, my parents and I sat together in the waiting room. The world was quiet until the nurse walked in, breaking the silence, calling my name. I looked at them and said, “Well… This Is Us.” And somehow that simple truth held all the fear, all the hope, and all the love in the room. It felt like the moment right before the director calls lights, camera, action.
Suddenly, I was living in a fake TV town like Smallville, trying to find strength I did not know I had, borrowing courage from Supergirl, and leaning into Green Arrow, aiming for hope even when the target was far away. Something larger than fear held me steady, reminding me I was not walking into this alone.
Walking to surgery prep, I reminded myself that this kidney transplant had a lot of High Potential, a new storyline waiting to unfold. Time stretched and folded. People spoke a medical language that sounded almost alien. And there was Sidney, my new kidney, arriving with the confidence of a character who knows they are about to become a fan favorite. I woke with gratitude humming in my chest, a reminder that grace, even Grace Under Fire, arrives in ways we never expect.
Post-transplant, my hydration routine could have impressed The Resident, constant and necessary. Each milestone became a small victory episode. Walking without exhaustion. Watching my labs move in the right direction. Noticing my scar fade into something subtle, like an Easter egg only loyal viewers would notice. Healing has a way of sneaking up on you, step by step, scene by scene.
Life after my kidney transplant has taken on the confidence of someone with a wardrobe full of Suits, steady and sure. And somewhere in the middle of it all, I crane kicked my way into recovery with the grit of taking karate lessons at Cobra Kai, choosing resilience, humor, and the belief that comebacks are always possible. Hope has become my rhythm. Humor has become my companion. And Sidney has become my reminder that even the hardest stories can turn toward light.
If this kidney journey has taught me anything, it is that even the heaviest stories can hold comedy and heart. Sometimes the best way to survive the plot twist is to see yourself as the hero, silence the fear, and keep rewriting the script with hope, humor, and a kidney that loves a good comeback story.
Maybe Sidney will have their own spin-off series like: My Kidney Transplant Recovery – A New Medical Show